My two ladies of the NNORC

The NNORC is an acronym for Neighborhood Naturally Occurring Retirement Community, an organization which functions on behalf of the aging in an area of Albany in which I am fortunate to live. Perhaps you have heard of this vibrant organization and its expanding health and social outreach. Just in case, here is the scoop:

NNORC operates in Albany as an interfaith partnership led by Jewish Family Services of NENY, and includes Senior Services of Albany, Roman Catholic Diocese of Albany, Jewish Federation of NENY, St. Peter’s Home Care and CHOICES program, Catholic Charities, The College of Saint Rose, Sidney Albert Albany Jewish Community Center, and University at Albany School of Social Welfare.

NNORC services allow adults to remain in their homes and live independently. It gives them opportunities for social interaction and increased health and social services. It promotes innovative, interfaith, supportive services to seniors. NNORC provides access to a range of health and supportive services and improves the residents’ health, social outcomes and quality of life as they age. You can read more here and see a map of the geographic area covered locally for persons aged 60+.

Before I got involved with the local NNORC, I had come across an article about how the organization functioned in a high-rise environment in a large city: neighbors getting to know neighbors, helping one another and receiving, through NNORC’s outreach, those sometimes small but vital bits of everyday attention and aid that permitted those seniors to stay in their apartments and and manage the lives that had become dear and familiar to them. When the presence of a NNORC in my neighborhood became known to me from a flyer I received, I decided that, as an older resident hoping to stay in my home for some time but not yet needing help (except my husband’s), it was past time I got back on the horse of volunteerism and took a ride to the NNORC offices, once I had sent in my application.

I was then working full-time and decided realistically that perhaps all I could offer was my company and whatever adventures visiting might bring. These were the early days of what would turn out to be the NNORC’s amazing rise to goodness. I attended an interesting, but not yet totally organized, training session and then went home to await further word.

My reward was Ida.

Ida lived in the big lower flat of the house in which she had raised her family. She greeted me with joy, welcome and many disclaimers relative to her having no particular affinity to any race, religion, age or political creed when it came to friends. She was feisty and outspoken and, over the months, entertained me with stories of her life, her parents’ lives and the lives she hoped her children were living. She was careful to interrupt the flow of her outpourings to ask me about myself and to comment on topics of interest. She was adept at claiming no opinion even while making that opinion clear as glass. Our affection was mutual and immediate. Was volunteering ever so satisfying, so easy and pleasant? The months flew by.

One day at home the phone rang and it was the NNORC. They had another woman who needed a visitor. Would I take her on as well? Her name was Mary, too. She was 83 and still working for the State. While my mind was still boggling over this feat, I was told that Mary had experienced a frightening event. Getting off the bus by her house after work one day, she had encountered a commotion of workmen doing something in the street. Distracted, she did not notice that a man had followed her as she approached her house and unlocked the door. He closed in on her and shoved her and himself inside where she was robbed (I have no other details).

Even before this happened, I learned from Mary that she had been suffering a fear of being alone. Since the crime against her, the violation of the presumed safety of her home, that fear had become another skin she wore over her tiny frame. The first time I visited her in her little ranch-style house, I found a recliner, side table and lamp next to her picture window and a TV strategically placed in a corner. The rest of her dining and living rooms contained what were plainly unpacked boxes, lamps, mirrors and a disordered scattering of displaced furniture. It was clear that Mary had never made friends with her house.

We usually sat in Mary’s kitchen where she made me a cup of tea and I listened. Readers, entering Mary’s life was like opening a book and beginning her story abruptly in the middle. Over the weeks I asked her many questions to draw her out and learned about her long marriage and the twin tragedies of her childlessness and her widowhood. I learned also that she was paying a goodly sum of money to have an “aide” stay with her at night because she was too afraid to be in her home alone.

Mary had no discernible interests (although evidence indicated that she used to have some), did not read books or the newspaper or even take in much television. I commented that a radio might add some chatty company or music to cheer her environment, but eventually was given to understand that she required the silence so that she might hear any suspicious noise. I later learned that this is a common fear for elderly with hearing loss who live alone.

While I encouraged Mary to share memories of happier times, it was clear she was, to use a familiar term: a “nervous wreck.” Occasionally we went out for a meal and one day I decided to take advantage of Mary’s one remaining joy: shopping. I took her to Kohl’s and Target’s, where she had never been, and it was like letting a child loose in a candy store. And just as dangerous. Mary was so short that she disappeared behind the racks the moment I was distracted, and I found myself a calling her name in an anxious piping voice I was ashamed to possess. She shopped, we consulted and she went home happy with her purchases only to begin crying the moment I had to leave her.

That weeping grew worse, nearly constant when not distracted. Mary also shared her suspicions that the aides were stealing from her (were they?), hints that her family was failing her (were they?) and complaints that her hip was increasingly painful (it was). I suggested consultation with her doctor and urged medication to alleviate her anxiety. Mary would nod and then later I would spot old prescriptions treating that very anxiety, untouched (perhaps for the same reason as the radio?). Then she began to see and become frantic over situations that did not exist (water on the basement floor), spots on the walls and ceilings of the kitchen. I was frightened for her safety on several levels and would return home crying myself with frustration and sadness. I made calls but was essentially powerless in my role.

At one less dire point, I naively decided that it might be a great thing to get Ida and Mary together. I had visions of their hitting it off and alleviating each other’s loneliness. With these fantasies in mind, I arranged for the three of us to attend a senior meal at the JCC that would have live music. Ida was thrilled to be out among possible old friends and determined that Mary should realize that Ida was my first special friend. Away from her fears, Mary oozed smiles and good will. Despite the seating arrangement in the photograph shown, I sat carefully between them during the meal with my head swiveling back and forth equally. Sadly, the commonality of age does not a friend make.

Medical conditions brought my visitor relationships with both women to a close. No longer able to cope alone, Ida was taken in by her grandson and his wife to a town near Oneonta. We still exchange holiday cards and the occasional phone call. To hear her voice on the phone brings back the vibrant woman who took great pride in her life as a homemaker, a wife and a mother.

Mary’s voice, her tears, have been stilled. She has the peace that eluded her for so long. What happened was this: Mary was scheduled for surgery. In the weeks before, we spoke of how she might be strengthened afterward, feel less frail and helpless – or so we both hoped. I arrived at the hospital shortly before she came out of surgery. She did not know I was there, but I did.

When I next visited, I was saddened to find that Mary, still unconscious, had been moved to a hospice area in the hospital. When I located her, I met some of her family members at her bedside – not the cold, uncaring people she had hinted at – but decent, loving people who had worn themselves out through years of trying to help Mary deal with her overwhelming fears and anxieties. They greeted me warmly, and I was glad to learn all they had done for her to no avail because Mary either refused or was unable to participate in her own wellness.

I said goodbye to Mary at her wake. I realized that I had witnessed in the last months of her life a tragic situation that may be more common that I ever realized. And I too felt afraid.

Mary Martin

8 Responses

What a great story and the descriptions are terrific. Once again your story resonates with me. I worked from home for many years and once a week I delivered Meals on Wheels to some elderly folks in the community. I developed many wonderful relationships with some of the people and have memories I will never forget. I have especially fond memories of an elderly gentleman who my kids called my “boyfriend”. In the summer he would pick me bouquets from his garden, gift me with veggies as well and one Valentine’s Day he gave me a very large heart shaped box of chocolates. He was adorable. I also had a blind lady that would give me a bag of homemade cookies every week. My kids would not eat “blind lady cookies” but I always did and they were delicious. Sad was the day when I would not see a name listed on my route and find out that they had passed away. About 4 years ago I took a full time job and had to stop my deliveries but I think of my people often and hope that they are well.

They are certainly more well for having had you in their lives, Lisa R. How pleased I was to receive your comment cram packed with the rewards, tangible and intangible, of your relationships with those elderly people. I worried Mary’s story was so depressing that no one would want to volunteer after reading it. But I believe these experiences and how they shape us – and for you, the example you provided your children (perhaps pooh-poohed then but I assure you solidly rooted) are important beyond words. Thank you.

I am sure you made a big difference in both of these ladies lives. Thank you for that. More of us need to get involved. I used to work in a nursing home and there were many residents there that never got a visitor.
I used to take my oldest grandson to visit an elderly lady there. The day she died my next youngest grandson was born. A coincidence??

Marilyn: I am so impressed that you took your grandson there and gave him an important lesson in compassion. I don’t know if the death and birth were related, but they sure are a reminder that life goes on, even if it is not our own.

Heart-wrenching, but needing to be said, as ultimately, we choose how to take life as the years go by. Fascinating, that these two women seemed to have made such opposite choices. I admire your willingness to get involved.